That moment of transition is something that I hunt out.
Here is an example from Peter Bennet that I return to from the end of his poem the Doll (The Glass Swarm 2008):
...And later, when my light stays on
night after night as I grow fatter
and try to feed its canvas face
with doll food from a doll-sized spoon,
I'll teach it that you told me what to do.
Another from Elizabeth Rimmer from her poem Marrying a Selkie (The Eildon tree magazine 2012):
...He does not think he disapproves,
but all the same on moonless nights
he thinks of women knitting, trays
of tea and scones, with rhubarb jame
blood red on flowered saucers,
and the sound of heads, soft-thumping
into baskets, while the needles click.
And finally from Celso Emilio Ferreiro (Eiquí Será):
Quero morrer eiquí (cando me chegue
a hora da viaxe que me aguarda).
Eiquí niste silencio
de pompas arroladas,
niste vento que dorme nos piñeiros
un profondo sono de arelanzas.
I would like to die here (when I arrive
at the journey's hour that I hope for).
Here in this silence
of still doves
in this wind that sleeps in the pines
a deep dream of desire.
You can hear the full poem sung here http://celsoemilioferreiro.org/2012/01/%E2%80%9Ceiqui-sera%E2%80%9D-poema-de-celso-emilio-ferreiro-na-voz-de-m-a-gomez-naharro/